


beginning comma a

by hariboo



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-04
Updated: 2010-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-07 00:52:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hariboo/pseuds/hariboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Alpha, before Claire Saunders, Whiskey gets asked a question. (Unbetaed.)</p>
            </blockquote>





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She touches her face, tracing the perfect but ugly lines that run across it. She hasn't seen her face since yesterday in the mirror after her morning swim, but she can feel how different it is now. There are raised edges in places that were smooth before. She doesn't like the feeling.

"Where's Dr. Saunders?" she asks to her handler, tears still in her eyes. "He'd make it all better."

Alvarez shrugs, her eyes shifting, where she's standing in the corner of the white room, "Yeah, sure he will."

Alvarez hasn't noticed that Ms. DeWitt standing at the far door looking at them. Whiskey has. Ms. DeWitt has a very hard stare and she looks tired. So very tired, Whiskey wonders if she had bad dreams. Sometimes Whiskey has bad dreams, but she doesn't talk about them. And after a full twenty-second of just _looking_ at them — Whiskey counted — Ms. DeWitt steps forward. Her shoulders look tense, and her heels click sharply on the wood floors.

She steps to Whiskey's hospital bed and gently cups Whiskey's cheek. Her skin is cool and her hold is gentle. It feels nice. Gently, she tucks a loose strand of Whiskey's hair behind her ear, "Would you like us to make it all better, Whiskey? We can make this all better." Her voice is smooth and low — it feels like a whisper or better, a secret — and Whiskey likes the sound of her voice, so different from everyone else in the house.

"Yes. Very much," Whiskey nods, because the lines are ugly and mean, and she can't close her eyes without remembering. It hurts to remember. Alpha had been a friend, but he isn't anymore. So, yes, she wants to make it all better. So much. Remembering makes her stomach hurt and she doesn't want to anymore.

"Then we'll do that." Mrs. DeWitt says, and Whiskey hears such certainty in her voice. She can't help but believe her.

"Thank you. I want to be my best."

Ms. DeWitt stares at her without saying anything for a full five-seconds (she counts it out again), "And you will be." She turns, leaving as quietly as she came in.

The door closes behind the click of her heels and Whiskey traces the line that runs across her nose again. "It will all be better," she says, softly, repeating it in her mind. All better.

Her handler frowns — Whiskey doesn't like frowns, they turn people's faces upside down and bring dark shadows into their eyes — and pats her hand, "Yeah, sure."

Three hours later, the short man with the crazy hair stumbles into the room they're keeping her and asks her, not looking her face, if she wants a treatment.

Whiskey smiles. Treatments are good. They make things all better.

"Yes, please."


End file.
